Maybe I Will
by glasswalls
Summary: Seventeen year old Maeve Pells from District 8 doesn't want to die. But after being reaped in the 45th Annual Hunger Games she accepts the fact that she will, inevitably, die. She says she won't kill. But after the Games drive her crazy it's kill or be killed. Which would you pick?
1. It Happened too Quickly

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own The Hunger Games but I do own all the characters in this series.**

* * *

"Maeve Pells!" the shrill voice calls with sickening excitement.

I freeze, every muscle in my body tensing from… I don't know what. Shock? Horror? Helplessness? I cannot function. I cannot think properly. Everyone has moved away from me, staring at me in horror, as if I have a disease that could wipe them out if they are within a four metre radius of me. I compose myself. I put on a brave face, clenching my teeth and looking upwards, toward the Justice building, to try and look stronger than I feel. After all, I don't want to scare away sponsors before the games have even started.

It is all eerily quiet as I walk toward the stage, feeling all eyes burn into my body at all different angles. My footsteps echo around the square and - after what feels like an eternity - I manage to drag my legs up the steps and onto the bleak stage to meet Jacqueline Pearl with her garish blue wig and fake gold eyelashes, her floor-length purple dress swaying in the slight breeze. On the grey stage beneath the grey sky with the grey faces looking up at us, she looks like a fish out of water.

"It's lovely to have you on our team, Maeve." she coos, walking toward the bowl with the many male names in it. "Now for the boys!" I am still in such shock from my name being called that I miss the boys. I lift my eyes from the floor just as the boy climbs up onto the stage and my stomach drops.

His name is Lewis Jacksons and he was in my class last year. Although I did not talk to him, it's worse having to fight against someone that you know from your district than if you did not recognise them at all. He looks just as blank as I feel and we just nod at each other from separate sides of the stage.

My heart hurts as I realise – whether I come out of this alive or not – I am never going to see Lewis again.

"Thank you, Thank you, District 8! It has been a pleasure, as always! Let the 45th annual Hunger Games… Begin!" Jacqueline begins to laugh a stupid twinkly laugh and claps enthusiastically. No one joins in and her claps slow to a stop and her laughter dies out with an embarrassed cough.

I look out at the blank faces. It's difficult to figure peoples expressions at the reaping because they are all sad for the two people they are destined to lose but everyone is relieved, too. No one wants to die. But, then again, they don't show their relief. They don't want the last thing I remember of my community is them being glad that I went. Before I can begin to take my last look at my people, I am ushered into the Justice building, ready for goodbyes.

* * *

Sitting in the tight room, nervously tugging on my white homemade cotton dress, I realise that I don't want to leave. I don't want to leave my beautiful district with its vast fields and claustrophobic factories; I don't want to leave my mother, my only friend.

I don't want to kill; I don't think I'd be able to kill anyone. But I can't die, my mother needs me just as much as I need her. As if my thoughts were a magnet, she opens the door a little and stands there, staring blankly at me. Her expression - or lack of - is scaring me and alongside her blonde, wispy half-up half-down hairstyle she looks mad and terrifying.

She silently slides onto the bench next to me and takes my hand, squeezing it tightly. I know what she's thinking, she thinks I won't come back, she thinks this is the last time she's going to see me. My eyes prick as I realise this is probably right. But I have to try, she deserves hope at the very least.

"Mum, I can do it. I can try, and I will try my very best, to come back home. I promise you." I say to her. She just nods and pulls me to her, holding her tight. We stay like that in silence for another minute until we're interrupted by the peacekeepers.

"Times up," the peacekeeper says gruffly, "time to go."

She gets up and glides to the door, she turns to me and gives me a weak smile, "Stay safe, Maeve." My name rolls off the edge of the tongue slowly, as if she were trying to savour it.

"I love you, mum." I say quietly.

"I love you too."

Then all too soon I am alone again.

* * *

As I step into the Capitol train, my eyes widen at the amount of food, drinks and luxuries. I sweep my eyes across the first carriage and marvel at the flat television, twice the size of myself. As I walk deeper into the train I trace my finger along the deep blue kitchen top until I stop infront of our mentors, Abbie and Luca, of whom we saw but did not get to talk to at the reaping. I remember the games Abbie took part in as they were only a few years ago. Images of her knife slashing through the temples of other kids flash through my mind and I shudder and look away from her piercing blue eyes. How could someone so friendly kill with such passion?

As we talk Luca continuously twitches and stares around the room anxiously, sending his blonde-brown hair flying into his eyes. My heart hurts a little when I realise that that must be an affect of the games that will forever linger over him. Sometimes I catch his gaze and his soft brown eyes have such terror in them that I have to look away almost immediately.

Abbie does most of the talking, unlike Luca she has not got a recognisable after affect from the games and her brown hair is neatly placed back into a ponytail, her pearly whites flashing as she smiles meaning she kept herself together after the games. I wonder what effects the Games will have on me, both whilst I'm in the arena and if I come out.

After an hour of talking about the Capitols food, facilities, clothing and way of life (but strangely enough avoiding the subject of the games) they sit us down on the plush dark blue sofas to watch the reapings of all the other districts so we know what we're up against in the arena.

The two tributes from 1 and the male tribute from 2 volunteer. I roll my eyes at the stupidity and arrogance, why would you sign yourself up for the games? Even if you were as equipped as those districts. However, the girl from District 2 called Petal gets reaped and she skips up to the stage, a pretty smile on her innocent face. I look away. She looks no older than thirteen. I imagine her ripping open other peoples throats with her teeth and wince, she's too young.

The girl from 5 cries as she scrambles onto the stage and the boy looks close to tears, too.

After a while it comes to my reaping. I watch as my name gets called and I'm surprised to see that I look a lot more alive and attentive than I felt. My skin is pale and I look a little sick but I look brave. I look strong. I look like a victor. A small smile escapes my lips before I remember that I won't win. Just look at the other tributes. I'm a disappointment compared to them.

I watch the rest of the reapings with lips clamped tight shut. I only remember two others, a twelve year old girl called Lucy from District 9 who had to be carried onto stage as she had fainted with shock, and Trayton from District 10, a tall, muscular guy with an attractive face and appealing black, flowing hair. I shake my head quickly. Now is _definitely _not the time for feelings toward another tribute.

* * *

For the next hour I wander aimlessly around the train, moving from one fancy room to another, admiring the abundances of silk, cotton and velvet fabric lining every table, every chair, and every cushion. I make a small dent in the supply of nibbles by eating an entire silver plate of sausage rolls. I put the tray toward the back of the table guiltily before trudging into the next room. There I find Lewis, curled in a ball on the rug, tracing patterns on the carpet with his finger. I walk and sit next to him, throwing him a sad smile as I do so.

I never spoke to Lewis last year in class and I don't want to talk to him now, it will hurt too much, for the both of us. I don't want to get close to him. I don't want to know him at all. Because then it will be even harder when he dies, presuming that he dies before me. He gives a shot at light conversation but gives up after a while once realising my defensive antics.

After ten minutes of sitting in silence I interrupt the peace to pose Lewis a question, a question I had been asking myself since my name came out of the glass bowl. "Do you think you'll kill anyone?" I ask quietly.

"What?"

"Do you think you'd kill anyone? You know. In the arena?" I repeat.

"Oh," he falters and takes a while to think of his answer. "I think… That when the times comes, I will do what's right. I don't want to kill anyone but I want to come out alive, everyone does. I have my sisters to think of."

"Of course…" I had forgotten that Lewis has siblings, I had forgotten that anyone apart from myself was feeling any emotional pain at all. "I'm sorry." I add after a while.

"No, no. That's okay… So, would you? Would you kill?"

"I don't know. I don't think so. I don't have the strength," I sigh, "mentally _or_ physically."

"I understand." he nods.

* * *

Whilst eating tea we discuss our tactics with Abbie and Luca. Lewis tells them about how he pieces together and uses the machinery we have back in 8 to sew the cloth together. He tells them about his great strength that he uses to haul machinery back and forth from the trains and factories, he tells them about how he can fashion a good, sharp weapon out of almost anything. As Lewis continues to talk I get more and more nervous. I have none of that, I am not strong, I work in the fields with my mother, picking the cotton and taking it back to the weavers.

When they turn to me to ask me about my strengths I explain that I have nothing to my name. They look disappointed.

Silence falls over the table. "Well, you're going to have to learn." Luca sighs. "Training starts a few days after you get to the Capitol. The instructors will teach you. They'll teach you how to fight and how to throw. They teach you what to eat and how to climb. You need to listen to them, Maeve. Because otherwise you have nothing." I know what he says is true but tears still prick at my eyes.

"Okay." I manage to choke out. Abbie opens her mouth to say something but she is interrupted by Lewis' gasp of awe. I follow his gaze out of the window and see the colourful, tall buildings of the Capitol looming in the distance.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! There will be more to come, I'm thinking of ending on a story with fourteen full chapters. They may vary in size to this one, who knows!**

**As this is my first go EVER at a fanfiction, I really do appreciate reviews. Thank you once more for reading!**


	2. First Impressions

**Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I do not own The Hunger Games but I do own all the characters in this series.**

* * *

I want to be at home. I want to be running through the bland fields, weaving between cotton plants, holding my large wicker basket full to the brim with boring white plants to take back to the weaving factory. I want to be back in District 8, breathing in the stuffy air whilst sitting next to my mother weaving strips of fabric together to make a beautiful dress, or a large fold of cloth. I do not want to be sat in the Remake Centre getting every possible hair on my body ripped out of my skin. I grit my teeth as Lihana, a woman with pink and purple streaked hair and golden lips, tears the last bit of hair from my arms.

"There!" She shrills. I wince at her loud voice and mumble something of a thank you. Apparently my stylist 'didn't want to see me until I resembled something that looked remotely like a human being', to quote Lihana.

"I shall fetch Ryland, you're ready for him now." she says flashing me a gold smile before practically skipping out of the room followed by the other members of the prep team who have spent the last two and a half hours pinning me down to a table whilst yanking out almost every hair and exfoliating my skin to the point where I am one layer of skin away from becoming a skeleton.

I sit up on the operating table and realise that I am absolutely naked. I sigh to myself but don't bother covering up; I'm never going to see my prep team or stylist ever again so what does it matter?

I twirl my newly cut brown hair between my fingers as a young man walks in, his pale skin slightly tinged with green and his grey eyes ringed with black. His shoulder length blonde hair sways as he walks, glinting in the bright white light. I fight the urge to roll my eyes at the obvious Capitol fashion he wears.

* * *

Because I come from District 8 I am sure it will mean that my costume will be some ridiculous pile of exuberant colourful cloth. I sigh for I am certain that I shall look ridiculous at the ceremony, my first impression on the Capitol.

"Maeve, isn't it?" He asks, interrupting my train of thought.

"Yes."

"District 8," He murmurs. It wasn't a question but I answer anyway.

"Yes."

"Myself and Tam – Lewis' stylist – have a very... Different costume for the both of you tonight. Different but better." He tells me, smiling. I smile back and for the first time since I entered the Capitol, my smile is genuine.

"So no heaps of fabric?" I ask.

"No heaps of fabric." He confirms.

He gets me to stand in the middle of the brightly lit room – _completely naked_ – so he can examine me and decide how to drape my costume.

For the next two hours I stand still as Ryland's hands drape soft fabric over every part of my body, I feel the fabric but I do not look for Ryland has banned me from doing so, he wants it to be a surprise.

He works on my hair for what feels like an eternity and when he finally pulls away my head feels very heavy from the weight of my hair. I reach up to touch it but he slaps my hands away with a small smirk before continuing his labour.

He works on my face for a while, applying various lotions of light colours. He finally pulls away, his eyes shining from his finished product.

"Don't move, I'm going to put my hands over your eyes and lead you into the prep room, Lewis is finished and you'll be able to see both your costumes, okay?" He says.

"Okay." I agree whilst he puts his rough hands over my eyes and leads me steadily into the next room, he takes his hands away but I do not look at myself. I hear a gasp of wonder and the dragging of wood upon wood before Ryland tells me to open my eyes.

I open them to see Ryland and another woman, who must be Tam, standing by a long wooden frame and a girl of extreme beauty standing on the other side. I take a step forward to examine her and she takes a step toward me, too. I gasp and so does she. Realising the girl in the frame is me I smile, I am not looking through a frame; I'm looking at a mirror.

The dress that I am wearing is made of brown cotton, the exact same colour as my shining hair. The dress is strapless and hugs my chest before falling down with extreme bagginess to my bare feet. My skin has been painted a pale white with light brown underlining my cheekbones, making them look more prominent. Smoky brown eye shadow has been applied on the lids of my eyes, complimenting my hazel irises and brown lipstick adorns my lips. My eyes suddenly lock onto my hair and I smile. Ryland has fixed half-metre hair extensions into my hair and at the top of my head he has placed a hairband that looks a bit like the weaving looms we have at home.

"You're a weaving loom," he tells me, "and in the chariots the wind will whip through your hair to knit it together, you will look like someone is weaving a brown fabric, like someone is weaving you."

I stare at myself. I look beautiful. I look terrifying. I look powerful.

"Wow," I breathe, "I look amazing."

"Yes you do." a deep voice from behind me sounds. I whip round to see Lewis in a brown suit that matches his hair. His tie is loosely secured and, along with the white shirt and brown trousers, he looks dangerously attractive. A cape wraps around his neck. "This is _my_ weaving loom." He says, pulling on the cape made of millions of long, thin strands of brown fabric. I smile at him, "We match." I say quietly, looking at his pale painted skin. "Yes, we do." he smiles back at me.

"You both look completely stunning!" Screeches Tam in her thick Capitol accent, "We knew you would, it's such a brilliant design! Wait until you're out there, the audience will love you!"

Both myself and Lewis just nod at Tam, still overwhelmed with the brilliance of our outfits.

* * *

Lewis, Tam, Ryland and I are gathered around our chariot with our brown horses, which match our costumes and our hair.

"Remember, smile a little but have an air of mystery about you, okay?" Ryland tells us, preparing us for the ceremony around the streets and the presenting of us to the Capitol. "Don't give too much away, we have the interviews yet."

"Yes," Tam agrees, "you will both be amazing, you look brilliant and the crowd will love you."

I nod and look away from our chariot and down the line of tributes in ridiculous costumes.

I spot the tributes from District one, a girl with a set jaw and long blonde hair and a boy with a scowl on his face and dense muscles, I shiver at the thought of them both in the arena. They're both covered head to toe with shining jewels per usual.

District three look ridiculous, they are completely naked apart from wires wrapping in a skirt around their torso and the girl has two light bulbs adorning her breasts. They both look terrified and extremely self-conscious, rightly so.

Looking up the line I see the young girl from District 9 dressed in a long bronze dress that puffs small amounts of grain into the air when she moves. She catches my eye and I smile at her quickly before looking away, embarrassed to be caught staring.

Tam helps me up onto the chariot and positions my hair so that it will fly out accordingly before helping Lewis into his position and arranging his cape. My stomach begins to knot as the anthem of Panem sounds and the massive steel doors open causing a wall of sound to slam me in the face.

I hear the screams of the Capitol over the anthem and realise that the chariots must already be on their way. I crane my neck to look over the heads of the other tributes to see the tributes from District 4 disappear round the corner of the first street, their blue cloaks waving behind them.

Before I know it myself and Lewis are at the front of the queue, ready to make an appearance for the first time in the Capitol. Obviously they would have already watched the reapings but now was a time to make a brilliant first impression. I straighten my back as the chariot lurches forward, exposing us to the screaming of the citizens.

The chariot begins to speed up and I hear the collective gasps and screams of the people as they see my hair weave together. I catch a look of myself on the big screens in front of me and I gasp. Strands of my hair are slowly flying out in all directions before being sucked back in to my head and forming tiny plaits that are being intertwined into one thick plait that continues into my costume, it's as if my dress and I are one.

The cameras pan out to capture Lewis and I realise his cape is being knitted together by the wind.

He catches my eye and a look of wonder crosses his face before his stern expression lights up and he opens his mouth in a large grin to laugh with astonishment, I laugh at his look of incredulity and the crowds go wild as they witness our outburst of giggles on the big screen and before I can stop him Lewis snakes his arm around my waist and pulls me toward him, waving at the sea of colour with his other arm. I rest my head against his sturdy chest and wave, making the most of this moment of happiness.

The Capitol citizens are soon distracted by another chariot of tributes but we continue to get people pointing and marvelling at our beautiful costumes. Lewis and I continue to hug and wave until we come to an abrupt stop where we listen to the president make his speech. While the cameras cut away to the faces of us twenty four tributes the president welcomes us and I get to have a closer look at the other districts costumes.

District 12's are completely naked and covered in dust – coal dust I would imagine. Small apples adorn the tributes of District 11 and District 10's tributes have been dressed in black underwear and are painted in a way that makes it seem that their flesh has been ripped to reveal juicy meat that probably represents the killing of livestock that happens in that district. I recognise the tall, attractive male tribute from 10, who I remember is named Trayton, standing strong. District 9 are in beautiful, amber coloured baggy clothes that puff out grains of wheat whenever they move. District 7 are dressed as trees. I roll my eyes. After 44 years of other tribute parades you would think the District 7 stylists would try something new, they're _always _dressed as trees.

The tributes of District 6 are dressed in golden dresses with ridiculously large hats that move like the wheels on a train. Solar panels rest on the heads of the tributes from District 5, supposedly lighting up the miniature lights that adorn their clothes, making them look magical. The two from District 4 are dressed as a king and a queen, in blue and white with ocean blue cloaks cascading from their necks down to the floor; their crowns are sparkling in the lights from the square. District 3's skimpy wired outfits are pitiful compared to District 2's shining armour, making the tributes wearing it look petrifying and unforgiving. The jewels that dazzle the District 1 tributes are captivating and look as if they are floating around their bodies.

I become increasingly nervous as I survey the other tributes but I make sure I still have a tight grip on Lewis and a wide smile plastered on my face. I try to push away the thought that, in a few days, many tributes here will be mercifully slaughtering each other for the entertainment of others.

* * *

Whilst getting off our chariot Tam is smothering us in praise about how beautiful we looked and how beautiful our costumes looked and how we played the crowd just right. Lewis shoots a small smile at me and I smile back and take a deep breath to steady myself before following our prep team and our mentors – Abbie and Luca – into the Training Centre where we twenty four tributes will be staying before being locked in an arena to fight to the death.

We get led into the Training Centre and toward the tower that is built especially for the tributes and our teams and we take the lift up to level eight – our floor. Each district has a floor to itself and because we're District 8 we get the eighth floor.

The doors of the lift open and Lewis, Abbie, Luca and I step into our temporary home. The walls all around are painted a light grey colour and the theme of the open plan dining/sitting room area is brown and green. A brown oak table with green spindly chairs sits on the side of the large room. A few small steps downward leads you to the sitting area that has lush, brown sofas with green patterned cushions facing toward an extremely large, sleek television that fills the entire wall. An oak coffee table holds fashion magazines and programmes and newspaper clippings from other various games. A large green bookcase on the far wall holds, not books, but DVDs of all 44 previous Hunger Games. Six doors – not including the lift doors – are placed around the room.

"Maeve, your room is to the right," Abbie informs me, pointing to a brown door in the corner of the dining/sitting area next to the bookshelf, "and Lewis, your room is to the left." She points toward the identical door on the opposite side of the room next to the dining table.

Lewis and I make our way over to our rooms and I hear Abbie call after us, "Excellent show today, by the way. You both looked gorgeous in your costumes." She smiles toward me and I smile back. My eyes glance over Luca who is gazing into the distance with glassy eyes, a look of horror plastered on his face and my smile drops; I run into my room and shut the door behind me before I have to witness any more of how the Games have affected Luca.

My large room and en suit have followed the same theme of green and brown that is in the dining/sitting area. The brown floor stretches out into a large square that has a king-size bed in the middle of it with green covers. I walk over and sit on the bed, I start to sink into it and, feeling my eyes already drooping, I stand up and walk to the large window that overlooks the capitol. Next to the window there is a panel with about twenty different buttons, I press one and I'm looking at the Capitol's square where I just rode my chariot. All the people are still there and they're watching the start of the Hunger Games from a few years back. I watch as a young girl gets stabbed several times in the chest and I press several buttons to get rid of the view of the town square. It's a while until I realise I'm shaking. I sit on the windowsill and calm myself down, I'm going to have to get over young girls and boys being killed as that's what I'm going to be witnessing in a few days' time.

I wander around my large room for a while longer, marvelling at the wardrobe that can pick out an outfit depending on my mood and the microphone that sits on the wall where I just need to pick a meal from the possible options from the enormous menu and it will be delivered to me in just a few minutes.

I eventually find my way into my en suit. Brown tiles cover the floor and walls of the massive room, I have two sparkling crystal sinks to choose from and the shining bath is about as big as my bedroom back home. I feel a pang in my stomach as I remember my room at home, an average size with plain walls and a small bed, it was nowhere near as extravagant as this but I preferred it there, it felt more like home.

I eye the shower in the corner of the vast bathroom and within a minute I have stripped out of my costume, removed my artificial hair extensions and jumped into it, feeling the hot water pound onto my back. I turn to my right to see the massive panel of buttons to choose from. I squint to read the labels, one says 'flower blossom' and I press it. Immediately the water stops and I get squirted from all angles with flower smelling perfume until I press the button again to get it to stop. I play with the buttons for about an hour, choosing the smell of my shampoo, conditioner, and shower gel and getting a great many massages from the automated machines. After a long while I step out of the shower and press a button that dries me off instantly. I walk to my wardrobe and pick myself out a pair of green silk pyjama bottoms and a black strappy top made of cotton and lay on my bed lazily until Abbie calls me for tea.

I'm glad to see Ryland and Tam sitting at the dinner table, they greet me with smiles, hugs, and kisses and I sit down to join them. I order a penne arrabiata with garlic bread and champagne on the side and whilst we're all waiting for our food to arrive we talk about tactics.

"Training starts tomorrow and I think," Luca starts, staring at us as if he is looking straight through us, "that you both need to learn the skills you do not have such as survival first and then on the last day focus on your weaponry strength." he then looks straight at me with his frightening brown eyes "But of course, Maeve, you need to start from scratch, learn new skills – anything so that you can defend yourself and kill others."

"I'm not going to be killing anyone." I retort. Luca twitches and stares at me.

"Why not?"

"I would not be able to live with myself if I took the life of another." Luca does not break his gaze with me. I cannot tell what he is thinking and an unnerving silence settles over the table until the silence is broken by Abbie.

"Lewis, you said your strengths were being strong?" she asks him.

"Yes, though I do need to learn survival skills, too."

"Okay, make the first day of training looking at the survival skill sections and then work with your strength on the last day. Though, do try to learn to use a weapon, too." She says. Lewis nods. I can still feel Luca's eyes burning into the side of my head but I refuse to turn to look at him. I change the subject by asking Tam and Ryland what they have in mind for us for the interview costumes.

* * *

Once tea is over I make my way to my bedroom and, after brushing my teeth, I collapse into my bed. My sleep is continuously disturbed over the night by various nightmares of killing the little girl from District 9. I finally get into a heavy sleep and I don't wake until the next day, when I am hurried out of bed at eight to get changed into my training clothes and ushered down to the training room for eight thirty sharp.

* * *

**A/N: Hello all! This is the second chapter of the series and I think I am falling a little bit in love with Lewis - oops. That's probably a thing that should not be happening.**

**Anyway, I would really appreciate your opinions on this fanfiction (this chapter in particular) bearing in mind it is my first ever!**

**Thank you so much, I am really happy that so many of you have decided to read this, I can't wait to continue it!**


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